Blood In Illusion
by Snowdancer
Summary: Exposition of Raziel and Zaphkiel's relationship contains spoilers


Blood In Illusion

Heaven was beautiful. Superficially, admittedly, but even beauty that existed only on the outside was still beauty. Raziel wondered why things weren't getting better, why he couldn't rid this land of prejudice and chauvinism, why almost all that he hated still remained. Most of all, he wondered why after all these years, he remained as nave as he was when he was a child, actually believing that dedication and passion could clear Heaven of the filth that was now almost its essence.

Breathe. Live. If not for himself, then at least for _him_. It should be enough; it gave him the will to go on; take calm, deep breaths as he watched himself age, that childhood innocence gradually replaced by weariness and an almost despairing kind of resignation. He felt as if he was grabbing hold of every scrap of his old self that still remained, trying to catch something of the past before he reached the point where he could no longer change, the moment when the growth of an angel came to a final stop.

He didn't really belong to himself anymore, his only respite and privacy being those few moments when he would stand in that vast room alone, resting his forehead against the clear window pane, looking down onto the endless field of flowers that bloomed every season in almost every colour imaginable. If he stared long enough, the colours would merge and swirl before his eyes, like multi-coloured lava. It was an escape of sorts from the duties that bound him. Almost nothing else existed for him now. Only duty. Loyalty. And an endless longing.

In another time, another life seemingly, he was walking right below, among the field of flowers, the dew from the grass brushing against his skin cool to touch, the bag slung over his shoulders butting into his back every time he took a larger stride to keep up with the person in front. He grumbled inwardly at the irony of it; him stumbling at almost every step while a blind man strolled along with perfect ease.

"It's a beautiful day today, isn't it, Raziel-kun?" His commander's back remain on him, but Raziel could see the smile forming on Zaphkiel's face, those blind eyes crinkling in mirth. They weren't supposed to be here, and Zaphkiel very well knew it, even took a strangely childish glee in it.

Raziel bit back the retort of how a certain meeting was taking place right this moment, knowing that the battle was lost before it even began. To Zaphkiel, meetings and strolls in the gardens seemed to be one and the same thing; he attended them as he pleased. Which was, unfortunately, not very often. The High Council regarded the Great Throne as somewhat of an enigma, already his absence at the meetings was looked upon as a matter of course. It could be considered an insult to his credibility, yet Zaphkiel seemed not to care, shrugging it off as if it were of no consequence.

"Still worrying about the High Council meeting, Raziel-kun?" Zaphkiel's voice had a light, teasing tone to it, the tone which always made Raziel feel as if he was the Great Throne's constant source of amusement.

"No! Of course not!" He was perhaps a little too quick to answer, for Zaphkiel turned around with an eyebrow raised sceptically.

"Well..." He straightened his shoulders defensively, for a while forgetting there was no need to do so, "just a little."

"I suppose the meetings are very important," Zaphkiel conceded, "but only to some." It was only then, at the suddenly serious tone of his voice, that Raziel realize that there was no longer any sign of humour in those blank, expressionless eyes.

"Do you think they are important, Raziel-kun?"

"I...I suppose so, I mean, the High Council is attending..." He felt as if this was some kind of test, and he was failing miserably. Yet Zaphkiel nodded, but Raziel could not discern if it was a nod of approval or something else. It made him anxious, this guessing game, where he had to stab at whatever answers he felt were right, with no clue whatsoever from his mentor. Without even knowing it, he brushed ever so lightly against the conscience of the man before him, searched for a hint to his feelings.

Zaphkiel shook his head almost ruefully. "The curiosity of the young." Raziel recoiled in shock as he suddenly realising what he was doing. With feelings that vacillated from apprehension to sheer panic, he retreated back into his own awareness, opting instead to watch Zaphkiel's face for any evidence of anger. It was a huge transgression on his part, a serious breach of protocol. Surely anyone would resent this intrusion into their minds, the place where they kept their deepest secrets. He had only barely touched the surface of the archangel's mind, yet Zaphkiel had sensed it almost immediately. He had never encountered that level of sensitivity before. Then again, he had never attempted to invade the mind of one of the seven archangels.

But Zaphkiel actually didn't seem to notice, and Raziel wondered if his words a moment ago were only a figment of his imagination. The archangel was completely at ease, arms folded at his back, eyes twinkling with humour. But his words...

_"The curiosity of the young."_ Surely he was referring to Raziel's unearthly power, the ability that was deemed an abnormality among angels.

"Why so calm, Raziel-kun?" Raziel flushed in embarrassment, the apprehension a while ago momentarily forgotten. It confused him, the way Zaphkiel poked fun at him at every chance available. There he was now, laughing softly at Raziel's obvious discomfort while Raziel glowered silently.

Yes, the Great Throne mystified him. Always, Zaphkiel had seemingly no reason for his actions or decisions, somehow doing everything on impulse. Surely that wasn't the attitude expected of an angel of Zaphkiel's station.

Perhaps Raziel's confusion brought on a reckless kind of daring. "You don't think they are important." He didn't mean it that way, but said like that, it almost sounded like an accusation.

"If we remain the mindless puppets of God we are now, they are surely nothing more than a deliberately staged performance." Zaphkiel's eyes remained the vacant, emotionless eyes of a blind man, but they held an intensity that was hardly displayed. It was moments like this that always unbalanced Raziel, times when he thought he glimpsed a side of Zaphkiel that was unknown to the world.

That blind, unseeing gaze remained on him for a while, and than Zaphkiel burst out laughing. Raziel blinked in bewilderment, only to see Zaphkiel cover his cheeks with his hands in a look of perfect innocence.

"I'm joking, of course!" Head tilted to the side, Zaphkiel beamed beatifically. "No one can deny the importance of the Council meetings. It's just that an old man like me has a failing memory, and I sometimes forget to attend a session or two. Perfectly unintentional and excusable, really."

"Like now?" Raziel challenged.

Zaphkiel shook a finger at him admonishingly. "You think too little of me, Raziel-kun. I did forget about the meeting, and by the time I remembered, it was already so late I might as well miss it. Besides," he added as an afterthought, "they don't serve good tea."

Raziel stared at him in disbelief. Until Zaphkiel started laughing again, and Raziel felt the involuntary smile tugging at the edges of his own mouth. He successfully suppressed the desire to laugh, till Zaphkiel looked at him with a look of feigned hurt.

"I think I can feel you smiling, Raziel-kun. And I can tell you, there's nothing funny about the serious matter of tea."

And then they were both laughing in unison, the brief flash of uncertainty and fear from before gone as it never was.

Strange, that he hadn't realised it then. That brief moment when he touched the Great Throne's awareness.

It spoke of a familiarity that he had never known before, and will never know again.

_May I...touch your face?_

No one had ever touched him like that. Even in that simplest form of contact, it had brought forth an intimacy that was entirely alien to him. Merely that feel of skin against skin had been enough to lure him into seeking more, so much so that he couldn't resist that temptation.

The fingers on his cheeks had been clumsy in a graceful way, stumbling awkwardly yet confident in their movement across his face, eager to satisfy their curiosity. It had been awkward; yet as the fingers travelled across the rise of forehead down to his eyes, through his closed eyelids he could feel a tingling sensation that prickled his skin, see the look of intense concentration on the archangel's face as Zaphkiel tried to form images from touch alone.

The entire while, Raziel had reached forward as well, immersing himself in his mentor's awareness, not to read Zaphkiel's thoughts-that would have been nothing short of a betrayal of faith-but to sink himself into the other's emotions, to offer comfort and support.

In that brief time of communion and understanding, his world had been a mixture of love, concern, care, regret and remorse. A tumult of feelings and sentiments that flooded his mind all at once.

Then Zaphkiel had lightly brushed his lips before moving away to finger a strand of hair, and as the archangel's hands finally left him, it all ended, leaving him in the afterglow of it, more confused and lost than before.

It had hurt even more when the separation came.

Raziel touched his fingers to his face lightly, staring expressionlessly as they came away wet. Was this what Zaphkiel had felt? This abandoned sensation of continuing a meaningless battle when everything was already lost. This void that always existed no matter how much he tried to fill it with the monotony that comprised his life now.

Yet he lived, lived to continue this path that he had chosen, at least hoping that he could one day realise the dreams of another.

Angels were meant to be pure. Beings of love and passion. And he believed. Believed and hoped. Prayed.

Prayed that one day they would be what they were meant to be.

He ran his fingers down the sides of his face, searching for that intimacy he no longer had. The tips of his fingers were cold against his skin. He continued desperately, travelling down the exact path the hands of another had taken, so many years ago.

That warmth no longer existed. So cold.

He collapsed into himself, still searching. Forever searching.

For the untainted wings of an angel.


End file.
